


The Witch's Mark

by redpetaledfury



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Bad Touch, Coercion, Dominance, Don't Piss Off a Spellman, Embarrassment, F/M, Girl Power, Happy Ending, Non-Consensual Groping, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Sexual Submission, Patriarchy, Porn With Plot, Power Imbalance, Power Play, Public Humiliation, Public Nudity, Revenge, Submission, Threats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-08-28 02:14:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16714624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redpetaledfury/pseuds/redpetaledfury
Summary: Sabrina's being sued for breach of promise, but Aunt Hilda doesn’t come through for her - because Sabrina’s mother never baptised her all those years ago. So when the only option is to be examined for a witch’s mark, she agrees. And to make things worse, her lawyer didn’t show up tonight...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Don't ask me why my head does these things. I don't even know.

“Very well.” Father Blackwood tucked up his sleeves and retrieved his magnifying glass from the table. His eyes found Sabrina’s. “You will strip. Here.” He pointed to the witness stand.

Steeling herself, Sabrina left the pew and approached. She stepped onto the spot he had indicated, and began undoing her buttons. One. By. One.

When she was in her shift, she paused, looking at Father Blackwood.

“All the way,” he said. His eyes never left her.

She turned around, not wanting to see the people watching her. The gaze of the three creatures judging her was bad enough, she could not stand to know the expressions of the people she knew, the people of her coven. She slipped out of her underwear. Then, trying to control her trembling, she pulled off her shift, jaw locked.

Blackwood came around to face her. His glance raked her from her face to her feet. She might have been imagining the soft glint of amusement and gratification in his eyes -- he was very good at controlling his expressions, especially in front of his congregation -- but somehow, she didn’t think it was her imagination. Stepping up, he took her shoulders and maneuvered her in a half-turn. “You will face your coven. For it is them you have forsaken as well.”

Sabrina swallowed, hard, her face frozen. She would not let herself feel shame. She had a normal body, and it was just a body. Everyone had them. It was nothing most people hadn’t seen before. No reason to feel ashamed. No reason...

Snickers echoed from the crowd, and out of the corner of her eyes -- she was not meeting anyone’s gaze but she could not block out every sight without closing them -- she saw Prudence whispering wickedly with her sisters. The young woman looked beyond pleased.

And then she felt a touch on her neck, and Father Blackwood began his examination.

He started at her head. Fingers in her hair, pushing it aside to look for marks on her scalp, he took hold of bunches of it at will, pulling her head this way and that. He was not gentle. She winced a few times, as a stray strand caught in his sharpened fingernails and tugged. Next, behind her ears; then her neck, her back, her shoulders, and her arms. His hands grasped her limbs and maneuvered them so as to inspect her, raising her arms to check under them, prodding her muscles to ensure the shadows upon her were not marks, hiding in the low light.

The whispers were getting louder now, the snickers more frequent. “Whore!” someone muttered. Sabrina clenched her teeth and kept her eyes fixed on the ceiling above the door.

Warm fingers trailed around from her back to her right breast, resting there. Father Blackwood’s face came into view, blocking her line of vision. He looked her solemnly for a moment, and she returned his look defiantly. Then he gave a slight sigh and turned his attention to her chest.

Lifting one breast, he inspected it closely with his magnifying glass, pushing it this way and that. She flinched when he pinched her nipple and held it, his face inches away. She could feel his breath on her. Sabrina’s irritation grew with her discomfort. It wasn’t as though her breasts were big to begin with; examining them should NOT be taking this long. Just as she was about to say something, he moved on to her other breast.

Sabrina’s focus finally broke, and she sought out her Aunt Zelda’s face in the crowd, hoping upon hope that her aunt would say something, anything, to speed this up. Then she froze. Zelda wasn’t there. Where she had been before was an empty seat.

Her aunt, not wanting to witness this, had left the room.

Her gaze latched onto Aunt Hilda, a foot away. _Courage, love_ , her aunt’s eyes seemed to say. But she said nothing either.

Finally the inspection of her chest was over, and Father Blackwood was moving down to her legs. Picking up each foot, he inspected the soles closely, as well as between her toes. She struggled to keep her balance. Someone laughed. Probably Prudence, but she wasn’t sure anymore. A haze was descending upon her senses, a haze of shame and desperation, and it was all she could do at this moment to fight it off. She grabbed Father Blackwood’s shoulder so she wouldn’t fall over, and felt more than saw his smirk.

Once he was done with her feet, he stood up to look her in the face once more. This time, she couldn’t meet his eyes. Her cheeks burned. She was shivering.

“Spread your legs,” he commanded softly.

A chorus of talking broke out in the congregation, shock mixed with amusement mixed with schadenfreude. “Yeah, spread ‘em!” called someone in the back. She couldn’t stop the tears that pricked her eyes then, and she opened her mouth to breathe. She needed air.

“That’s enough!” yelled Aunt Hilda, coming to her feet angrily.

“Sister Hilda, you will contain yourself until the examination is concluded, or we will have another examination upon this stand to determine YOUR true nature,” Blackwood roared. He looked back at Sabrina, clearly angry at having been interrupted. “Do it!” he snapped.

She took a shaky breath, and stepped out so that her legs were further apart. She crossed her arms in front of her to cover her breasts.

Not that it helped. She didn’t think she would ever feel safe again.

Blackwood went to one knee before her, his hand grasping her hip. As he inspected her private area, she dimly registered a commotion in the pews. Aunt Hilda was trying to move closer, perhaps to block her niece from view, and the congregation was holding her back. Sabrina pinned herself to this knowledge. She needed all the strength she could get, right now.

Then his hand grasped her between her legs, and she jerked.

She couldn’t… she couldn’t… no one had ever touched her there before. Her own hands had, in exploration and curiosity, but having tried to remain a virgin meant that she had never allowed herself to be touched there. She had never known that kind of attention, wanted or not. And now…

Now she felt his hands upon her, touching her in the most intimate of ways, skimming his fingers along her labia and pressing his thumb into her clitoris, manipulating her in ways that she was afraid would make her wet, while all she could feel was this empty yawning pit of horror inside her and outside her and everywhere around her… because she was being… handled... by a man who wanted to control her life, wanted her to sign her soul away, wanted her to _submit_ … His touch went everywhere, everywhere wrong, and she had to take it, take it and not react when all she could feel was the incredible wrongness of it all, wrong, wrong, so wrong…

One finger pressed inside her ever so slightly, and she gritted her teeth, just about to snap, when:

“Aha,” said a voice below her. “There it is.”

She wrenched herself away, grabbing her clothes and holding them to her. “What?!” she gasped, voice breaking.

Aunt Hilda was at her side then, murmuring things to her, things meant for comfort, but she would feel no comfort again. She stared at Father Blackwood as her aunt wrapped her up in her coat, finally out of sight from the judging eyes of the crowd -- but the relief was practically nothing, because everything had been lost. She could still feel the touch of his hands on her. “What are you talking about? I don’t have a mark! I already looked, there was nothing!”

“Nothing you would have been able to see,” said Father Blackwood, rising and tucking away his magnifying glass. He wiped his hands on a handkerchief, slowly, as though to remind her of where they had just been. “It was on your perineum. Very difficult to find, and impossible to see with your own eyes, without the use of a mirror or another’s aid.”

“No, I don’t believe you,” Sabrina choked. Harvey… could he have missed it? They had both been a bit distracted at the time.

“Then have your aunt check. We’ll wait.” Father Blackwood gave her a small, self-satisfied smile.

Hilda’s examination was much kinder, her fingers cool and deft and barely touching her as she made sure the coat was draped so that the crowd couldn’t see. But in the end she stood, face grim, shoulders down, and met her niece’s eyes in sad confirmation.

“Seen and verified,” Father Blackwood declared. “Miss Spellman, you have a witch’s mark. Which means…”

“I really am a witch,” said Sabrina, horrified. “No, I… no…” She swayed into her Aunt Hilda, barely able to keep her feet.

“Your Excellency, we…  we request… a recess,” Aunt Hilda stammered. She wrapped her arms around her niece protectively.

Faustus Blackwood raised one eyebrow. “This matter has already taken far too long.”

“Please,” said Hilda. It sounded more like a demand.

The priest looked at her, then sighed. “Very well. Five minutes, and no longer.” The crowd groaned its disappointment.

Outside, Sabrina shivered, but it wasn’t the cold night air that was bothering her. “What am I going to do, Aunt Hilda?” she cried. “What am I… what…” She couldn’t breathe.

“Oh, come here love, come here,” said Aunt Hilda, taking the girl in her arms. “We’ll figure it out.”

“You’ll do what you should have done in the first place,” said a voice. They turned.

Zelda sighed as she regarded her niece. “Oh Sabrina,” she said sadly, taking the girl’s face in her hands. “I am so sorry. I wish I could fix all of this for you.” She took the girl’s shoulders, facing her squarely. “But you have no choice. If you continue to fight this, you will lose. And you will suffer. Unimaginably so.” She stroked the girl’s hair. “There’s no getting out of it -- it’s just a fact. And I know you hate it, I know this isn’t what you want. But it’s the _only_ way.”

Sabrina looked at her aunt, the aunt from whom she had gotten her steel, her backbone, her stubbornness and determination. She felt so defeated. “What do I do?”

~~~

The congregation was still talking animatedly when Father Blackwood called the court back to session. “The time for a decision has come,” he said. “Your dishonors, as we have determined, Sabrina Spellman clearly has a witch’s mark upon her body.”

The judges nodded their heads.

“Excuse me, Father Blackwood,” came Sabrina’s voice from the pews, clear as a bell. “Before we go any further, may I address the court?”

Faustus looked at Zelda. She nodded. He cleared his throat and turned. “Your dishonors?”

“ _APPROACH_ ,” they said. Their voices were like nails on a chalkboard.

Sabrina crept up to the dais. As she passed Father Blackwood, he stopped her, putting a hand on her shoulder. “No more disobedience,” he murmured in her ear. Swallowing, she nodded, and continued.

She stopped just before the trapdoor. She had never seen it open before, but she knew where it led. She clenched her fists… and then let them go, and dropped to her knees.

“Your dishonors,” she began, eyes to the floor. “I humbly beg your patience. Although my aunts brought me up in the ways of the Church of Night, being half mortal, I have lived all my life surrounded by mortal things. As I approached my dark baptism, I… admit that I was reluctant to make the commitment that was expected of me. But I did not know then what I know now.”

She raised her eyes to take in their horrible visages, which glared at her, unmoved. “Firstly, that my father promised my soul to the Dark Lord. And secondly, that although I am half-mortal, my true nature is that of a witch.” She took a quick breath. “Knowing these things now, I see that I was foolish to run from the Dark Lord. My life… was never my own to begin with.” She looked down at her hands again, tears brimming her eyes. “As such, I beg you to allow me to sign the Book of the Beast without delay.”

Father Blackwood circled her kneeling form, looking from the judges to the crowd and back again. “I must admit, this is a most heartfelt speech.” He looked down at her, reveling in the feeling of having won at last. “I find myself… moved. What say you, your dishonors? Shall we allow her to sign?”

There was a pause. Then: “ _SHE WILL SIGN_.”

He led her before the book, and cut her hand as before. A drop of blood landed on the page, as before. The pen was in her hand… and where before she had felt confusion, she now felt only certainty, a terrible sad certainty deep within her. Dipping the tip in the blood, she scratched her name. _Sabrina Spellman_.

It was done. She dropped the pen with a clatter and backed away.

Her eyes found Father Blackwood’s, looking down at her. “My aunts?”

“Already done.”

She turned to look, and he was right: they were young again. Aunt Zelda put her hand to her face and sighed with relief, but Aunt Hilda only sat there, the tears in her eyes mirroring her niece’s. Sabrina turned back to Blackwood. “What happens now?”

“You are his, Sabrina,” said Blackwood calmly. “And although your soul will not roast in the pit for three hundred and thirty-three years, I imagine he has other… punishments planned.”

The trapdoor banged open. The judges were still sitting there. This is what they had been waiting for.

“ _SABRINA SPELLMAN_ ,” they hissed. “ _YOU ARE CALLED_.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I feel obligated to say at this point that I had this scene in my head for awhile and it needed to come out -- but when I continued the story, I found that it was headed somewhere I wasn't expecting. If the idea of reclaiming one's power appeals to you, keep reading. (There's also some pretty hot sex.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will no one rid her of this troublesome priest?

Sabrina sighed. She was in herbalism class, listening with half an ear while idly doodling in her notebook. To her left sat Nicholas Scratch, doing the same. Their eyes met. Herbalism. How boring.

It’s not that she didn’t appreciate the knowledge to be gained here. Her aunt Hilda had excelled at Herbalism, having a green thumb and a kind nature and an endless enthusiasm for spells that improved one’s life in small, subtle ways. Sabrina loved her aunt. But the topic was just… so much memorization, and more of an art than a science. Sabrina preferred her spells to be straightforward, simple, and dramatic. Mixing together a bunch of herbs, downing the potion and then _trying_ to see if it had an effect on your life was just… too tedious for her to have an interest in. And besides, with Aunt Hilda’s influence, she knew a lot of the basics already. Enough to know that she didn’t particularly care to know more.

It wasn’t like conjuring class, where every moment was laced with suspense. (Would their group conjure the right creature, or would it be something unexpected that would get loose and try to kill them all?) Or Hexing 101, from which she siphoned an endless supply of ideas for punishing the football players and “mean girls” of Baxter High. (She couldn't attend anymore, but she might as well make it easier on her friends by taking out the bullies.) It wasn’t even like Theology, which contained a fascinating amount of history that always left her with more questions than answers, and kept her wondering deep into the night.

No, herbalism was just… boring. Tedious. Too much work for too little payout.

At least it wasn’t like Demonology. A chill ran through her as she remembered her last class, Father Blackwood unfolding the secrets of understanding demons while she sat in the back, behind the tallest student, and prayed that he wouldn’t call upon her.

This prayer had been in vain; at least once a week, Father Blackwood made certain that her voice was heard in his classroom, and this day had been the day. He was reviewing the particular characteristics of the demons of Mesopotamia, including their names, aspects, and feeding habits, and about halfway through the class, he called upon her to take them through a description of Asag.

Sabrina had stood, ignoring the mutterings around her. Ever since the trial, the more vindictive and gossipy students of the school had taken great delight in observing her whenever she was in the same room as Father Blackwood. She had tried pretending it hadn’t happened, that it wasn’t an issue, that she didn’t freeze up every time he turned his eyes on her, but… witches tend to be a rather observant lot. Vengeful, too.

Ultimately, it was hard to forget something when there were always people around who were eager to remind you of it.

So she had stood. She would rather have sat, but past experience had taught her that this brought even more attention from the High Priest, and she wanted to get this over with. She cleared her throat. “Asag,” she recited from memory. “A Sumerian demon reportedly so hideous that his presence near a river makes fish boil alive. However, these reports are likely faulty, and witch scholars have determined that it is more likely he simply boils the rivers upon contact. His offspring are rock demons, possibly including but not limited to those that currently inhabit the Zagros Mountains.” She paused to take a breath. “He is chiefly spoken of in a poem known colloquially as ‘Nunurta’s Exploits,’ although there are reports of attempts to summon him as recently as 1894. These attempts did not go well.” She stopped, having reached the extent of her knowledge on the subject.

Throughout this speech, Faustus had idled closer to her, stopping at the head of her row. “And the proper title of this poem?” he had asked. His voice held a tone that was… a bit too familiar. As though he was speaking just to her, as though they were alone.

“I…” Sabrina had looked around, at a loss. “I’m sorry, Father Blackwood, I don’t remember.” She did not meet his eyes, but it didn’t matter. She could feel them on her.

“Hmm.” He turned away from her, addressing the rest of the class. “Anyone?"

And Sabrina had sat back down as though her strings had been cut, and sunk even further into her seat.

Thinking back to that class now put her on edge. It wasn’t that she found the topic difficult, or dull. It was neither. Demonology was fascinating, but… she would really prefer to hear about it from someone else. Someone who didn’t have such intimate knowledge of her anatomy. Someone whose eyes, when on her, didn’t bring up memories of her standing in front of the coven, naked, being touched… like _that_.

That whole ordeal was still burned into her mind. It had been a month. She should be over it, right? But she couldn’t help it. Thinking about it still gave her a sick feeling, in the very depths of her soul.

Part of the problem had been what had come after. The Dark Lord himself was terrifying in the flesh, enough that she could only remember hazy details of her encounter with him. All she knew was that he had promised to watch her, very closely, and that he had big plans for her. And that if she ever tried to run from him again, she would be suffering… a lot.

And then he had given her a taste of that suffering.

She didn’t care to repeat it.

Now, whenever she had the courage to turn her memories to that fateful encounter, it wasn’t for long. For all she could see was burning inferno, and all she could hear was his terrible voice, and all she could feel was her flesh, on fire.

A name caught her ears, jolting her attention back to herbalism class. The teacher and other students were looking at her. “What?” she said, confused.

“Sabrina, I really wish you’d pay more attention,” lamented her teacher, Ms. Belladonna. “You’re wanted in the High Priest’s office.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Oh. I… all right.” Gathering up her stuff, she took quick, faltering steps away from her seat and out of the room. But not before hearing a few choice whispers from the other students.

_“Hope he gets you wet again!”_

On the other side of the door, she stopped, leaning against a wall. For the love of… why would he want to see her? Why couldn’t he just leave her alone?

She dug a sweatshirt out of her bag and tied it around her waist protectively. It was dumb, but somehow having the added weight made her feel slightly better. Ever since her trial, her fashion sense had changed. Where once she had worn tight blouses and miniskirts with leggings, she now wore long, loose pants and baggier shirts. It made her feel more… covered, somehow. Layers were good, too. She could do anything, as long as she had a few layers on. As long as they weren’t too tight.

Sabrina hoisted her bag onto her shoulders, held her books tightly to her chest, and walked slowly upstairs to the High Priest’s office.

~~~

“Enter,” said a voice from within. Easing open the door, Sabrina shuffled inside.

“Ah, Sabrina,” greeted Father Blackwood, rising. “Please, have a seat.” He gestured to a chair in front of his desk, watching her carefully as she took it. She ignored his gaze -- as much as that were possible.

“You wanted to see me, Father Blackwood?”

“Yes. Sabrina, it has come to my attention that you are having trouble in some of your classes,” he began. “Including my own, I have to say. I was… wondering… if there was anything on your mind. Anything I could help… alleviate.” He gave her a small smile, waiting.

Anything he could… Sabrina shook her head. “No… no, Father Blackwood, I can’t think of anything.” She hoped her lie wasn’t as obvious as it sounded to her.

He regarded her for a moment. “Then perhaps you can tell me why you’re having trouble in Astrology?"

She blinked. “Well, it’s not my favorite subject… I guess it just doesn’t seem very useful to me.”

“I see.” He steepled his fingers. “And Herbalism?”

She was still avoiding his eyes, focusing instead on his shoulder. “A little bit too much memorization, but I’m trying.”

“Hmm.” Father Blackwood’s eyes hadn’t left her. “Then perhaps you’d care to tell me why you seem to have such a dislike for Demonology?"

“Oh I don’t,” she disagreed. “It’s incredibly interesting. And I’ve gotten A’s on all my tests, so...”

“Sabrina, whenever you come into my class, you sit in the very back. You never ask questions. There was a while there when getting answers from you was like pulling teeth. Now yes, you have done fairly well on your exams, but I have to ask: why this behavior?”

Sabrina said nothing. She looked down at her hands, fidgeting. Considering.

“Sabrina, look at me.”

Hating herself for feeling so vulnerable, she obeyed, meeting his eyes -- and trying to ignore that low, sick feeling that was growing by the minute.

Father Blackwood furrowed his brows. “Is this about what happened the night of your trial?”

She said nothing, but the look on her face told him. Hmm.

It wasn’t often that Faustus Blackwood had cause to regret his actions -- and this was no exception. “Well, that’s only appropriate,” he said, sitting back in his chair. “Still traumatized, then? You’ll get over it soon enough.”

She glared at him, the sick feeling turning to rage.

Seeing this, he smiled. It was a start.

“Sabrina, I’m not going to apologize for making you feel uncomfortable in that moment,” he said, standing up and coming around the desk. He could almost feel her stiffen more with each step he took. Slowly, he settled his weight against the desk, not two feet away from her. It was a strategic pose, meant to inspire familiarity -- and subservience. He steadied himself on the edge of his desk with his hands and looked down at her.

Sabrina was staring past his waist, planted in her chair as though all the wild horses in the world couldn’t move her. She refused to lean back to be farther away from him, but clearly hated being where she was.

“My dear child,” Blackwood said, as though amused by her lack of understanding. “Remember what you did. You turned your back on the Dark Lord, whom you have been taught to follow your entire life. You spurned your family’s teachings, and you spurned your coven. And you broke your father’s promise.” He reached out to grab her hand suddenly, the hand he had cut that night -- and had to fight her for it, but his strength prevailed. “Remember this,” he hissed to her, clenching her wrist tightly. “Remember what you could have been facing that night. And be grateful.”

His grip loosened, and she yanked her fist back. But he was already standing and moving around his desk once more. She took a chance. “Can I go?”

“No,” he said, in a tone that brooked no argument. Shuffling through his papers, he addressed her with only part of his attention. “This attitude of yours, Sabrina, is not in keeping with the Dark Lord’s plans for you. He expects you to excel in all things -- even those things which do not interest you. It is part of… the deal.” He looked up at her, expectant. “As such, to remind you of your obligations and keep you on the path he has laid out for you, you will attend weekly Satanic Confession here, every Friday at six o’clock, after classes have ended for the day.”

“Here.” Sabrina was aghast. “With you. Father Blackwood, isn’t there someone else I can confess to?”

“There isn’t,” he said mildly. “I am your High Priest, Sabrina, and I am charged with the keeping of your immortal soul. I would be lax in my duty if I were to allow you to confess to another.”

Every Friday. _Satan be damned_ , she thought. She sighed shakily, realizing she had no choice.

“ _Now_ you may go. And Sabrina?”

She stopped, looking back at him.

“If you are not here at the appointed time…" She felt a slight pressure between her legs as something touched her... _there_. His eyes held hers. "I _will_ find you.”

Faustus Blackwood watched her leave like a gunshot, and smiled. For all the steel she had pretended, this girl was full of soft things. She would need to be hardened if she were to be of any use to the Dark Lord.

He would see to that.


	3. Chapter 3

The days were winding down to her first Satanic confession, and Sabrina was in knots. She wished that time would stretch out before her like so much saltwater taffy, on and on so that she would never arrive at the day. On Friday, she did a small spell to make herself appear sick -- so she could stay home, and make the most use of her time to process things, and prepare.

She couldn’t face the world right now.

But after she had thought about it for awhile by herself, she realized that the answer was not to be found within her. And so, she looked without.

“Auntie Zee?” Sabrina stood in the kitchen door.

Her aunt was reading a newspaper written in Cyrillic. She looked up. “Yes, Sabrina? I thought you’d be in bed, you should be resting.”

“Auntie Zee, I…” Sabrina came over to the table and sat down. “I need your help.”

“With what, Sabrina?” Her aunt’s voice held its usual tone of prim concern.

She took a deep breath. “The High Priest.”

Aunt Zelda looked shocked. “Sabrina! Whatever do you mean?”

“Just hear me out, please.” She looked so defeated. “He called me into his office yesterday. He wants to hear my Satanic confession, tonight. And every Friday afterwards.” Thinking about it was like imagining that the mouth of Hell was before her, yawning wide… “Auntie Zee, after what happened during the trial, I can’t even stand to be in the same room as him.”

“What happened during… oh my.” Zelda thought back to that night, remembering her own refusal to watch her niece being poked and prodded. She hadn’t seen it, but she had heard Aunt Hilda muttering about it afterwards, and had noticed a certain change in her niece. She figured her sister was exaggerating, and that the whole thing would blow over and be forgotten. Poor girl. But then… “Sabrina, you must know that he was doing his job.”

The girl’s jaw locked. “No, that…” She shook her head. “He was _more_ than thorough. Auntie Zee, he was… invasive.” Her eyes were raw.

“Oh, Satan,” whispered Zelda. “I am so sorry, Sabrina.” She reached for her niece’s hand.

Sabrina wiped her tears away. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t… I can’t even think about this without going to pieces.”

Zelda drew a long shaky breath, and considered. She would be having a talk with Faustus about this. High Priest or no, no one treated her Sabrina this way. Calmly, she said, “You will go to Satanic confession. You will play the role you are required to play. And you will bide your time.”

“Until what?” Sabrina looked at her, desperation clear upon her face. “What am I waiting for?"

“For me to fix this.” Zelda patted her cheek. “Now go and get some water, it’ll make you feel better.” She turned back to her newspaper.

Dejectedly, Sabrina left the room.

She sought out her cousin next, but Ambrose wasn’t much help either. Although a tad more sensitive to her plight, he couldn’t see another way through it than… well, through it. “Look, cous’,” he said gently. “It sucks. It really, really does. But until the Dark Lord sees fit to choose another High Priest, you’ll have to at least pretend to go along with it all. I don’t see a way around it without disobeying him and getting yourself into even more trouble.”

“But can’t I just… I don’t know, Ambrose. Spell him to forget, or something?” Sabrina was pacing desperately, her steps reverberating around the attic. A poster crinkled slightly and fell from the wall. She didn’t even notice it. “Is there a spell that will make him leave me alone?”

“Every spell I can think of to do what you want to do, he would easily be able to discover and block,” said Ambrose with sad certainty. “And then you’ve got an angry High Priest on your hands, instead of just a pervy one.” He sighed. “Cousin. Please. I would help you if I could, you know that.”

She collapsed on the sofa next to him, limp with exhaustion. She hadn’t been sleeping much lately. “Well… do you at least know how a Satanic confession goes?”

Ambrose winced. “Yeah. Okay, um… so here are the basics. You tell the priest you want to confess something. You then… kneel…”

Sabrina groaned.

“... in front of him, and you take his offered hand. You _kiss_ his offered hand. And then you tell him how you’ve been failing the Dark Lord.”

“Ugh. No!” said Sabrina, exasperated. “This whole thing is just… messed up!”

Ambrose regarded her pityingly. “Them’s the breaks, cousin. Of course, it’s always possible he’ll go old-school.”

She looked at him. Did she want to know? “What’s… old-school?” she asked, unenthusiastically.

Ambrose shifted. “Well in less modern times, they would assign penance, like in the Catholic church. Nowadays it’s almost never practiced; it’s believed that just the act of confession itself is punishment enough. I mean, you’re literally admitting you’ve failed at something. Not easy for our prideful little bunch.”

“But in the old days…”

“In the old days, penance took a more… physical form.”

Sabrina was confused. “So you’d…”

“Endure lashes from a cat-o-nine tails, yes.”

She stared at him in horror. What. The. Heaven.

Her cousin saw her reaction and tried to walk it back a bit. “I mean, it hasn’t been common practice for a good long while. Chances are, he won’t go there.”

But Sabrina knew that if she made that assumption, it was a near-certainty that fate, and Father Blackwood, would have other plans.

  


Fuck.

~~~

That evening, Sabrina approached the Academy of Unseen Arts with a heavy heart. She hadn’t been able to speak to Aunt Hilda before leaving, as her aunt had been working and then decided to stay out after her shift to go to a movie with the bookstore proprietor, Dr. Cerberus. Sabrina had waited as long as she could, but at 5:30, she knew she had no more time. She wrapped herself in her cloak and started to walk.

 _Courage_ , she told herself. She just had to get this over with, and try to avoid any further recriminations from the High Priest.

When she knocked on his office door and heard him say, “Enter,” it was all she could do to keep herself in check. But she bit down hard on her emotions. She would get through this with as much dignity as possible.

“Good evening, Sabrina,” said Father Blackwood. He was standing behind his desk in his usual elegant suit. “Are you ready to confess?”

“I am,” she said, as clearly and as confidently as she could muster.

Gratification played across his face, and he seemed to grow only larger and more commanding. “Then you may take your place here,” he said, snapping his fingers to indicate the space to his left. Then he settled back in his chair and held out his left hand.

Slowly, she walked around the side of his desk, not looking at him. She stopped at the appropriate distance -- which was still far too close for her liking -- and sank to her knees. His hand was before her, and she reached out tentatively to grasp it with her own. The kiss she bestowed was light and quick, but he said nothing, only waited for her with regal eyes upon her.

Submission was an awful, fear-filled thing, but at least from this position she didn’t have to look at him. She fixed her eyes on the floor.

“I… confess that I haven’t been doing very well in some of my classes lately,” she began. “And… I haven’t been as devoted to the Dark Lord as I could be.” She bit the inside of her lip. What else could she say? Those were the main sins he had charged her with, right?

Father Blackwood sighed impatiently. “Go deeper,” he said. “The Dark Lord knows what is in your heart. It is important that you say it, so that you can know it too.”

Sabrina was silent for a moment, debating her words. Then: “I… miss my friends. I miss my boyfriend. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.” After she had signed the book, her aunts had taken her phone away. They had put a protection spell around the house so that it looked empty when seen by mortal eyes. Her friends probably thought she had moved away and not told them. Knowing what they must be thinking right now… it hurt. A lot.

And thinking about Harvey… just ripped her apart.

“So you confess your connection to these mortals, and acknowledge the pain it is causing you,” said Father Blackwood. “Sabrina, this is the crux of your failure. In order to follow the Dark Lord’s path, you _must renounce_ your mortal ties. Not just in the eyes of others, but in your heart as well."

She was quiet. She refused to do what he wanted; she would always be connected to them, and she would always blame the Dark Lord, and him, for taking them from her. But she knew this was not what he wanted to hear, and she scrambled to think of what she could say…

And then she remembered what Ambrose had said: Pretend.

Maybe she could do that. Maybe she could lie. If she just put enough of herself into the act…

“Sabrina. The Dark Lord is waiting.”

It was just like drama class. “I’m sorry,” she said, throat tight. “It’s difficult to give up something when you’re accustomed to it. I’ll try harder, I promise.” She dared a glance upwards, willing her eyes to convey the right expression.

He looked at her coldly, and she shifted her gaze back to the ground.

“Trying is not enough, I’m afraid.” He leaned forward, and grasped her hand in both of his own. “Look at me, Sabrina.”

 _It’s not enough to act_ , thought Sabrina desperately. _I have to BE_.

She raised her gaze again, and this time made the decision to be -- in her present thoughts at least -- what he wanted her to be.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, sincerely this time. “I’m really, really sorry -- for everything.” She took her pain and her fear and her loss, and channeled them into tears. “I’m so afraid of his anger, I can’t imagine anything else. And you… you must hate me.”

In the back of her mind, she was thinking, pleading, _oh god oh god please don’t touch me again_...

“What I feel is immaterial,” said Father Blackwood imperiously. Then he softened. “But I thank you for the apology. I can only hope that he accepts it in the same spirit.”

She winced, remembering that night. “And if he doesn’t?”

“Then you will continue to suffer.” He regarded her with a sober expression. “He may be calling on you sooner than you imagine, Sabrina. You need to be ready.”

She grimaced, but nodded her head.

Blackwood stood, and Sabrina rocked back on her heels to avoid brushing against him. He went over to retrieve a book from his shelves, a dusty green tome with the words _Magicis Supposui_ in faded gold on the spine.

“The only thing now is to move forward,” said Blackwood matter-of-factly, turning back to her as he thumbed through the book absently. “You are here at this school. From now on, you WILL excel in all your classes, including Demonology, and you will take on extra projects as prescribed.” He held out the book to her. “This may help.”

She took it from him, confused. “Magical… hypotheses?”

“It’s a bit dry, but once you get the rhythm, there is no better book for understanding the greater truths about magic,” he said. “Your Aunt Zelda can help you with it, I believe it was a favorite of hers at the Academy.”

Sabrina was taken aback. “Uh… thank you, Your Excellency.”

He continued. “Now, as it is your first Confession, I’ve decided we will forgo penance for today,” he said. “Simply admitting your sins is enough, for now. But Sabrina: you walk a much closer path to the Dark Lord than many do. To encourage this closeness, your confessions will follow tradition. You will be required to sacrifice much for him.” He stepped closer, towering over her, and grasped her arms. “This is just the beginning.”

She swallowed. “I understand.”

~~~

Faustus watched the door shut behind her. Although he saw himself as more of a father figure to young women her age, there was something about the girl that made him want to punish someone… and he had some very specific ideas about who.

Turning on his heels, he teleported into Zelda’s office at the Academy.

She was gone. Holding a late choir practice, but he had counted on that. He settled into an armchair to wait.

Not ten minutes later, the door blew open and Zelda flew in, like a cold wind. She was meaning to get some grading done and then go home in time to make dinner. She had been preparing meals more often, now that Hilda had decided to go off and get a job at the bookstore.

When she saw him, she looked startled, and drew herself up to her full height. “Why, Your Excellency,” she exclaimed. “I do apologize if I kept you waiting, I had no idea you wanted to see me.”

They had grown closer after Sabrina’s trial. That night, they had worked together to make sure her potential was not wasted -- that she would not burn for three hundred and thirty-three years in the pit, as was prescribed. The plan had been simple. Faustus would push Sabrina to the edge, and she would go running to the most obvious authority she knew: her steely, strong-willed aunt.

It was one of the reasons Zelda had left before the examination. Well, she certainly wouldn’t have liked to see it, that was true. But it also had the effect of leaving Sabrina without one of her protectors, therefore causing her to feel more vulnerable up on that witness stand, naked before the entire coven. While Zelda hadn’t expected Faustus to be quite as thorough as all that, if she were being perfectly honest with herself, she had to admit that in the moment, she hadn’t cared -- she had been so desperate to put things to right.

Once Sabrina had conveyed her decision to sign the book, Zelda’s nod to Faustus had told him that no further measures would be necessary, and that the night’s efforts could be brought to a close.

She hadn’t asked what other measures he would have employed, had her niece proven to be more stubborn than they had anticipated. Truthfully, she didn’t want to know. All she knew was that her niece’s rejection of her Dark Baptism had been a grave mistake for them all, not least Sabrina, and that it had to be remedied. By any means necessary.

And hopefully, now it had.

But that did not rid her of her guilty conscience from leaving her niece in that moment, the moment she had needed her aunt the most. And now, knowing exactly how… _extensive_ … Father Blackwood’s examination had been, she needed to make things up to her niece. Badly.

Faustus tightened his hold on the head of his cane and addressed her cordially. “Good evening, Sister Zelda. I was hoping we might continue our discussion from before.”

“Our discussion… oh. Yes, of course.”

The last time they had spoken privately, it had been for her own Satanic confession. It had been shortly after the trial, and she had lingered one night after Black Mass, hoping to catch him alone. For it had been made clear to her that her family needed all the friends they could get, and she hoped to cultivate a closer relationship with him after working together during the trial.

“Your Excellency,” she had said, drawing close to him as the last parishioner exited the run-down sanctuary. “I was hoping I could speak to you. I am in need of your… spiritual guidance.”

“Of course,” he said, ushering her into a small office next to the main sanctuary. Inside were a few hard wooden chairs, a desk, and a filing cabinet. Previous High Priests had spent more time here, but he found his office at the Academy more comfortable. He also preferred to compose sermons from the lectern, as grandiose speeches came easier to him when he imagined his congregation before him.

But this would do for privacy.

He offered her a chair, and she took it primly. Perching on his own, he asked, “What can I help you with, Sister Spellman?”

“Father,” she began, “after the events of the past month, I have found myself in need of Satanic confession. I can’t help feeling responsible for the entire situation, and…”

“Indeed,” he broke in. “Had you raised your niece in a more wholesome environment, away from mortals and among her own kind, she would not have created such difficulties for us.”

“Father…” she looked at him, in clear distress.

And so he had heard her confession. Mollified by the recent victory, and frustrated by his wife’s refusal to make love -- it had been some time since their last tryst -- Faustus had softened to her, and what was a confession turned into… something else. Afterwards, he was grateful that Zelda had waited until all his parishioners had left before approaching him. It would have been embarrassing, had someone interrupted them in that lengthy, impassioned moment.

He had not spoken to her since then, aside from a brief request that she take over as choir directrix after Constance had developed some complications with the pregnancy. Otherwise, he had not sought her out. Perhaps he had been chastising himself for being unfaithful to his wife; perhaps he simply hadn’t had the time. But he was here now.

“It occurs to me,” he said, crossing his legs, “that I never assigned you penance.”

“P-penance?” she echoed, confused. “I… I don’t understand.”

“Your sins against the Dark Lord were not trivial, Zelda,” he said, standing to retrieve the cat-o-nine tails he had left on her desk. “And, from what I have observed of your niece during her time here, your failures continue.”

“Now see here, Faustus,” she protested. “I know Sabrina hasn’t been excelling in _all_ the ways we hoped she would, but I do believe she is doing her best. And from what I hear of your treatment of her the night of her trial, it’s a wonder she’s doing very well at all!”

“My treatment of her?” he said. He looked at her carefully. “Zelda, all I did was what we agreed upon.”

“And then some!” she huffed. “The examination was already bound to be a traumatic process for her, you didn’t need to molest her!”

Father Blackwood’s face darkened. “As I recall, you made no such stipulations at the time,” he said evenly. “In fact, your exact words were, ‘Do whatever it takes.’”

“Well you should have known there were limits!” she snapped.

“And _you_ should have known that your niece’s comfort comes _second_ to the needs of the Dark Lord!” he retorted, bringing the cat-o-nine tails down onto the desk with a _CRACK_. He glared at her. “In fact, _is that not_ the crux of this entire matter? If you had raised her in the proper way, such lengths would hardly have been necessary!”

She drew back as if he had slapped her, shocked. She could think of nothing to say to that.

Faustus could see he had hurt her. He considered his next words carefully: “Zelda, I know you are trying. I know that you did not set out to fail here. But this entire situation remains a work in progress, and until you acknowledge that, you will continue to fail. Sabrina needs to follow the path laid out for her -- willingly and eagerly -- and until she does, there can be no rest for either of us.” He looked at her, exasperated. “The Dark Lord needs more from you. And so do I.”

For a moment, she thought about arguing further, but she knew it would get her nowhere. She inclined her head in acquiescence. “I understand,” she whispered. “I will… submit to your wishes, and take penance. If that is what you desire.”

“I think it would be best,” he said evenly.

When they were done, her back was scratched and red. The cat-o-nine tails used for penance in their faith was much less damage-inflicting than the larger kind used throughout history for severe punishment, but the marks did not go away quickly. And they stung like the dickens. She stood for a moment, hands still on her desk, and tried to regain her composure.

Cool fingers pressed gently upon the newly-raised welts, and she hissed, arching her back. Faustus was behind her, close, grasping her shoulders now as he pulled her to him. “I wish I didn’t have to treat you this way, Zelda,” he murmured, taking in the scent of her. “Your flesh deserves better.”

She made a small sound then, something between a sigh and a whimper, a sound that barely made it out at all before being cut off by her own pride and self-control. “Actually Faustus, I… have to admit… I think it’s helped.” She turned in his arms. “It’s a certain kind of… exquisite… agony, and ecstasy.”

She waited for her words to have an effect on him. She didn’t need to wait long. His mouth came down on hers with all the force of a hurricane, and she found herself pinned against her desk, hands pushing at her clothes as she did the same to him.

Trailing his mouth down her neck to her breast, he growled and pulled one of her sleeves off, giving him better access. Her fingers had already unbuttoned his shirt and vest and made a good start on his pants, as his hand came up, lifting her skirt and grasping her backside. As she gained access to his cock, the feeling of his tongue on her nipple was almost too much. They both gasped in unison, pausing for a moment. Then they renewed their efforts.

Zelda was stroking him as he slipped his hand into her underwear with a fervor. With a yank, he pulled it down, along with her tights, and shoved his hand between her legs. She moaned as he took possession of her then, slipping his fingers through her labia and pressing firmly upon her clitoris. They entered her, and she lost all control.

“Faustus,” she pleaded, letting go of his cock and grasping the back of his head.

He let go of her with his other hand then, and guided himself inside her.

She wrapped her arms around him and held on for dear life.

The edge of the desk was hard against her as they moved, and he was hard inside her, so incredibly hard and perfectly angled. They were making an ungodly amount of noise, but she didn’t care. All she could see, all she could feel, was him, his eyes hard upon her, his hands holding her tight, his mouth doing things to her that had not been done to her in a long, long time, and she let go, glad to have a reason to at last…

After a few more thrusts he came, shuddering to a stop inside her, and she was in the midst of her own orgasm and didn’t want him to stop, so she pulled herself to him for the last few thrusts until… yes. There. It was finished.

She leaned back on her elbows, head lolling to one side as she let herself go limp in that delightful mix of exhaustion and satisfaction that comes after an orgasm. He was leaning into her, still inside her, eyes closed and breathing hard. Then he pulled out of her with a promptness and sense of purpose that underscored everything he did, wiping himself on a handkerchief and re-buttoning his pants.

Zelda pushed herself up to standing, adjusting her underwear and brushing her skirt into place. Calmly, she threaded her arm back into her sleeve, and zipped up the back of her dress.

Faustus watched her, as he buttoned up his own shirt and fixed the collar and the sleeves. He looked like he was debating whether to say something, and Zelda simply watched him, allowing him control over the moment. She knew what he wanted, and what he needed -- and she would use that to get what she deserved.

In the end, he finished dressing, reclaimed his cane, and turned towards the door. Then he stopped.

“I hope you will think about what we have discussed here tonight,” he said, a slight note of reproach in his voice.

Zelda looked at him with sincerity, and nodded. “Believe me, Your Excellency. I will.”

He left, cane tapping purposefully on the flagstone, as Zelda let out a long, slow breath.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So um... this chapter went places. I have a much better sense of where I’m headed with this story. And for anyone who’s disappointed that I’ve given Zelda the action here, all I can say is that I have to follow the characterization that I believe in. Sabrina/Faustus may have been where it started, but it's not necessarily going to be where it ends. Accordingly, I've added tags to more appropriately describe where the story is now and where it might be headed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clear up any confusion: in this alternate canon, Sabrina's still trying to keep an eye on her friends, but since she can't be around them anymore, a few events turn out differently. Anything that is referenced here that is different from the plot of the show is due to that.

“Revenge,” said her Aunt Hilda, “is the only solution here. Right.” She took down a spell book from the top shelf, blowing the dust off it carefully. She placed it on the table.

It was the next day, and Sabrina had confided in her aunt about the events of the past week. Hilda had banged about a kitchen for awhile, insisting on fixing her niece “a cuppa” and dithering over which recipe to use. Finally she had decided to brew up some of her special hot cocoa.

“Now you drink that right up,” she had insisted, planting the cup in front of Sabrina’s nose before fixing herself one as well. She had listened to Sabrina finish her story and then, carefully setting the cocoa to one side, retrieved the book.

It was a book of hexes, and there was some truly nasty stuff in it. Sabrina tried to not let her eyes linger on the extensive diagrams of a person’s insides being turned out, but the rest of the book wasn’t much better.

“Aunt Hilda,” she said cautiously. “It’s a little scary that you have this book.”

“Well, it’s not mine, exactly,” said Hilda, eyes darting to the door. “It’s Zelda’s,” she mouthed.

Ah. That made more sense.

“Aunt Hilda,” she said firmly. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I’d like to try something a little… less drastic, first.”

Her aunt looked slightly relieved, as though she hadn’t been too sure about the suggestion in the first place but felt obliged to make it anyway. “All right, sweetheart,” she said. “Well, you know it’s here if you need it. And so am I.” She gave Sabrina a hug.

Thanking her aunt, Sabrina drifted back upstairs. Maybe it would be better if she just tried to forget about what Father Blackwood had done to her. Focus on convincing him that she didn’t need confession any more. But could she really do that?

How good of an actor was she?

Maybe her aunt was right… But there was one person she hadn’t tried yet. Someone who had a talent for the unorthodox. Someone who had helped her in the past, and kept her secrets.

Someone she looked up to.

Shortly before dinner, she knocked on Ms. Wardwell’s door.

“Sabrina,” said the witch, opening it with a smile. “How lovely to see you. Come in.”

Ms. Wardwell listened to her story over a plate of scones and a cup of lovely Ceylon tea. “How vexing,” she commented, sipping her tea calmly. “I can certainly see why you’d be troubled about spending time with this man.”

“I just found out that one of my classmates is his daughter, too,” Sabrina continued. The debacle with the Feast of Feasts had been upsetting, for several reasons. One, as much as she disliked Prudence, the girl was beginning to grow on her, and the idea that she had come so close to being eaten was… horrifying. Two, her aunt had almost been chosen. And three, having the High Priest over for dinner was not her idea of a celebratory time.

That night, she had spent as much time in the kitchen with Aunt Hilda as possible, but there was no getting out of the dinner drama. She simply had to speak up in order to get the confessions they were looking for. And then finding out that Prudence was his daughter… it made sense, but it also made her wonder about the tentative, growing friendship between the bully and herself.

Meanwhile, Ms. Wardwell was looking extremely interested by this new piece of information. “His daughter? And who might that be?”

“Her name is Prudence. She used to bully me, but we had begun to get to know each other a little. And I’m starting to think she’s not all that bad… at least, I was. But if she’s his daughter…"

“The accident of one’s parents _does_ have an effect on a child,” Ms. Wardwell mused, “but what really matters is how a person is raised. You should know that much, Sabrina.” 

“I know. I’m just… seeing the patterns now, and wondering how much I can trust her. She’s been nicer to me since finding out.”

“Then she may prove an asset to you yet,” said Ms. Wardwell, smiling knowingly. “In any case. What to do about Father Blackwood?” She tapped her fingers on the table, looking thoughtful. “What indeed… Sabrina, why do you think he wants _weekly_ confessionals? What is his goal here?”

“I think…” Sabrina looked thoughtful. “I think it’s some weird power play to establish dominance -- which he really doesn’t need to do -- or, he thinks I’m not ‘devoted enough’ to the Dark Lord.” She rolled her eyes.

Ms. Wardwell narrowed her eyes. “And are you?” she asked softly.

“Ms. Wardwell, the Dark Lord forced me into signing over my soul to him. I wouldn’t say I’m his biggest fan.”

Her former teacher sat back in her chair, resting one elbow on the back of it. “And your new powers?”

Sabrina fidgeted, not meeting her eyes. “I mean… yes, they’re amazing,” she admitted. “I can… _do_ things now that… I wouldn’t have thought possible before.”

Ms. Wardwell smiled. “Like what?”

“A few weeks ago…” The girl paused, remembering. “I was being Harrowed by a group of girls. Prudence was there. And when they tried to hang me…” She looked up, eyes alight with elation. “I was more powerful than all three of them _put together_. And I taught them a lesson they won’t soon forget.”

“That must have been very… satisfying,” said Ms. Wardwell lightly. She shifted in her seat. “Sabrina, amidst all this talk about the Dark Lord’s ‘plans’ for you, have you ever considered that they might be something… you would enjoy? Something you may relish, even?”

The girl shook her head. “I can’t see how. Not from what I know of him.”

“And is that very much at all?” Ms. Wardwell asked. “I mean, yes, he threatened you. He forced you to sign. So we know he’s domineering, easily angered, and possessive. Not the most attractive traits, to be sure. But Sabrina, these qualities can exist alongside more desirable ones as well. Protectiveness. Generosity. Fierce determination. Even kindness.”

Sabrina stared at her as though she’d grown two other heads. “Are you trying to tell me you think the Dark Lord might actually be… good? No, Ms. Wardwell. The way he has treated me and the people I care about proves otherwise.”

“Not ‘good,’ exactly,” corrected Ms. Wardwell. “Just… a person, with faults and flaws like anyone. I’ll tell you what,” she said, uncrossing her legs and leaning forward to grasp Sabrina’s hands. “Give me a chance to show you the Dark Lord’s other sides. In return,” and here she smiled, in that badass, let’s-have-some-fun way of hers, “I’ll help you get this bastard of a High Priest off your back, for good.”

Sabrina looked at her mentor, not sure about the deal she was being offered. But for the first time in a long time, she felt a twinge of hope beginning to grow inside of her. Maybe there was a way through this mess after all.

She knew she could count on Ms. Wardwell.

~~~

It was three weeks later, and Sabrina Spellman was on her knees before the High Priest, confessing.

The last two sessions had gone smoother than he had anticipated. She had arrived promptly and put up no resistance the first time he had flogged her, and her confessions seemed genuine. In the course of them, he learned that she had been spying on her mortal friends, had snuck her familiar into the Academy for a day, and had performed an exorcism on a demon inhabiting her friend Suzie.

This last one was startling, as he had not known an exorcism could be performed by a witch (and highly disapproved of such things anyway), and he had assigned her an extra twenty lashes that day. But she had told him, and that is what mattered.

Slowly, he was gaining her trust, and her obedience. With each new confession, each lash upon her back, he felt more and more secure in his position of authority over her.

Today, she was telling him about the reading she had been doing. Time was beginning to take away the sting of the unpleasantness from her failed Dark Baptism, and she was starting to see another side to the Dark Lord -- a side that she could be appreciate, possibly even follow.

This was excellent news, but it made Father Blackwood wonder:

“Sabrina Spellman, are you being truthful with me right now?”

She looked at him, startled. “Why would you think I’m not?”

He simply continued to look at her, waiting.

Finally she sighed. “I guess… I guess I’m just tired of fighting.” She drew on the carpet, idly. “Of being afraid.” Her shoulders sank, and she stopped. “Tired of the death, and the pain.”

She had told him about her friend Suzie, who had been possessed by a demon after it had killed her uncle Jesse. More recently, a collapse in the mines had killed her ex-boyfriend’s brother, and she was having trouble with the thought of what he must be going through. She had even considered a resurrection, but she knew enough by now to realize that it would not turn out the way she wanted.

And besides: he wasn’t her boyfriend anymore. Interfering in his life would have to be someone else’s task.

All this she had told to Father Blackwood, and he had listened. But the fact that she cared… it made her so tired.

“Look at me.” Father Blackwood took her chin in his hand. “The path of the Dark Lord is not an easy one. There is much we must sacrifice to walk it.” Reaching out, he pushed the hair from her face. “But the rewards he offers are beyond compare.”

She sighed again. “I know. It’s just that… my nature is to fight…”

"And there’s nothing wrong with that, dear child,” he consoled. “But if you only choose your battles wisely… the world can be yours.”

Nodding, Sabrina sat for a moment, eyes closed, resting her cheek in his hand. Then she turned to kiss his palm, bringing her own hand up to grasp his.

Father Blackwood was touched. She seemed sincere… perhaps there was hope for her after all.

She let go, and bowed her head. She was ready to receive her penance.

Next time he would really have to prescribe something a bit more constructive, he mused. A cat-o-nine tails on a teenager’s body could make some nasty marks. But that was all right, he thought. She still owed him for all the aggravation she had caused -- and while she was willing, he would take what he was owed.

Standing, he retrieved the whip and took his place behind her, watching as she steadied herself against his desk. Her deft fingers reached behind her to unzip the back of her dress, and unclasp her bra with it. She was becoming accustomed to these small submissions, he thought, satisfied. Reaching out, he pushed the sides of her dress aside and over her shoulders to expose her back.

Through the looseness of the fabric, he could see the bare side of her breast. Still barely a woman, this figure before him -- and breaking well. He reared his arm back for the first blow.

She took it well, not making a sound. It wasn’t until the twentieth lash that he heard her breath hissing through her teeth. On the thirtieth, he stopped.

Coiling up the whip, he put it away, leaving her to fix her clothes. Then he turned to bid her good night. “Go with Satan, my child.”

She nodded, bowed her head, and left the room.

~~~

Ms. Wardwell opened the door as soon as Sabrina knocked. “Is it done?” she asked.

Sabrina nodded, and slipped in.

The candles were already lit in the center of the room, the circle drawn and the ingredients prepared.

“I’ll be right here, Sabrina,” said Ms. Wardwell, “ready to cast the disorientation spell as soon as you’re done.”

Sabrina nodded again. The casting of such a spell afterwards would ensure that no one could definitively trace the magic back to her. It was a handy trick that Ms. Wardwell had revealed to her after Sabrina had decided what to do. (She would have done it anyway, but this way was safer, she had to admit.)

She was done being afraid.

Stepping into the circle, she kissed the very middle of the triple moon symbol painted there, and then stood before it. Grasping a twig of hawthorn in her right hand and a poppet in her left, she took a few moments to center herself. Then she began chanting.

“I call upon Hecate, worker from afar  
Lend my spell reach and let none mar  
I call upon Artemis, huntress unseen  
Make my aim true and my arrow keen  
I call upon Nyx, she of the night  
Cloak my deeds and see them right

“Avenge me, sisters, avenge my pain  
Let his woes become my gain

“I call Adrestia, of just repay  
Give me aid upon this day  
I call upon Lilith, first and free  
Let him hereafter be wary of me  
Kindly Ones, I call upon you  
Hear my words and take your due

“Avenge me, sisters, avenge my pain  
Let his woes become my gain.”

The candle flames were standing tall, abnormally tall, and in her ears there was a great cacophony of voices, female voices, speaking angrily, speaking with her, speaking for her…

She could feel their power.

Taking the twig of hawthorn, she dug its thorn into the poppet, and said loudly and clearly:

“A kiss bestowed,  
A debt is owed.  
This hand to stain  
That once did shame.  
I call you sisters, let his fall  
Be heard and seen by one and all.  
May he dream of heaven  
But wake to hell,  
This keen disgrace  
My shame erase.”

Placing the doll in the center of the circle, she stepped back and raised her arms high, higher still as the voices in her ears reached their peak, and then… they stopped.

The candles were out. The room was quiet. The spell was done.

Already Ms. Wardwell was speaking her own spell, walking a wide circle around Sabrina. She held burning herbs in her hands, which she shook with every three steps, sending the smoke whirling through the air. Her powerful voice invoked the goddesses and gods of night, of secrecy, of confusion, of invisibility.

Sabrina closed her eyes, reveling in the feeling of all that power having just washed through her.

When Ms. Wardwell had circled her three times -- once counterclockwise, once clockwise, and then counterclockwise again -- she stepped into the circle and held Sabrina gently by the arms. “I’m so proud of you,” she said. “That took guts.”

The young witch smiled sadly. “Thanks,” she said. She began to clean up the room. “When will we know?”

“Oh, I’d be very surprised if we don’t hear something by tomorrow morning,” said Ms. Wardwell with a wink. “I could feel those powers you were calling on, Sabrina. They like you.”

Sabrina glowed warmly. What a happy thought.

That night, she slept better than she had in a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done, I think! Thanks for your kudos and your comments.


	5. Chapter 5

Classes were just about to start at the Academy of Unseen Arts, when a commotion in the main foyer began to draw a crowd.

Nicholas Scratch was on his way to the library for a few hours of morning research. He was rather looking forward to continuing his perusal of Edward Spellman’s journals; he had just reached a rather interesting section last night before the library closed. However, his progress was barred by the group of students gathered around the base of the Dark Lord’s statue. Hushed whispers and errant laughter swept through them, shock plain upon their faces as they stared entranced at the sight before them.

Drawing near, he saw a naked figure curled up on the floor. It was a man. He was sleeping.

Without his clothes, identifying the person before them was a bit difficult, but then he started to mumble and it all clicked into place: the High Priest.

The man on the floor was Faustus Blackwood.

He was apparently in the middle of a rather intense wet dream.

One of the perks of being a senior student at the Academy of Unseen Arts was that your classes were scheduled later, to accommodate extra-curricular research and late-night spell sessions. As a result, most of the students in the crowd were First-Years, and still rather apprehensive of approaching the High Priest on any given day of the week, let alone in a situation like this.

Nick made his way to the front of the crowd. “All right,” he said loudly. “Show’s over. Get to your classes.” Sweeping off his long coat, he draped it over the High Priest, covering him as much as was possible.

He looked up. “Go. _Now_ ,” he commanded, in a voice that held the direst of threats.

In twos and threes, the students shuffled off, glancing back over their shoulders and gossipping energetically. They wouldn’t be forgetting this event in a hurry.

Nick sighed. He knelt down to wake the sleeping form. “Sir?” he said, shaking the man’s shoulder. “Father Blackwood, please wake up sir.”

The High Priest gave a start and opened his eyes. “What… where…”

“Sir you need to wake up now. Please.”

Taking in the sight around him, Faustus sat bolt upright. “What in Satan’s name…?” He sought out Nick’s face and grasped his arm. “Nicholas?"

There were still a few students hanging about in the doorways, but upon seeing the High Priest awaken, they made themselves scarce. Nobody wanted to incur the wrath of the Dark Lord’s chosen servant by making it known that they had seen him in this state.

“You were having a dream, sir,” said Nick, closing the coat around him as he helped him to his feet.

“I was…” Faustus froze, a look of horror on his face. “Oh, my…”

He could remember the dream he had been having, and it involved a certain young girl with blonde hair. He looked down at his hands.

He didn’t like what he saw there.

“Nicholas,” he said, panic growing inside him.

“Let’s get upstairs, sir,” the young man said, putting one arm around him as he concentrated and -- in a blink -- teleported them up to the High Priest’s office.

Carefully, he maneuvered the man into a chair. “Sir,” he said, “I’m going to try to find out what happened to you, but I need to know: were you working any spells last night? Anything that might have gone wrong?”

Father Blackwood sat silent for several moments, and Nick was about to repeat his question when the High Priest spoke. “Thank you, Nicholas,” he said, his usual air of authority beginning to return to his voice and demeanor. “I cannot express the depth of my gratitude to you at this time, but be sure that I will repay you for your kindness in due course. I would appreciate, however, if you left this matter with me and returned to your studies.”

Nick looked at his mentor for a long, uncertain moment, and then sighed. “Of course, sir,” he said. Hand on the doorknob, he turned to go -- and then looked back. “Please let me know if there is anything I can do.”

He shut the door behind him softly.

Faustus sat in his chair, still looking down at his hands and letting the horror of the experience wash over him. How many people had seen? How many of his students… did Prudence…?

His shame roiled inside him, but it wasn’t long before it turned to fire and all he could feel was a deep, seething rage.

Who had done this to him?

Who had _DARED_?

~~~

Sabrina sat in class, a dreamy smile on her face. She was not paying attention. Her thoughts were elsewhere.

She thought about the figure on the floor, and the High Priest’s look of horror as he woke and realized where he was, and all she could do was grin.

That had been fun.

But the best part would be what came next.

When class ended, she filed out into the halls with the rest of the students, mind on her homework. The teacher had assigned a 5-page essay to be due in three days. Ugh.

She was already thinking about getting together with Nick for a study session when a hand grabbed her arm, and pulled her into an alcove.

“Hey!” she protested, but then saw who it was. “Oh hi. I was just thinking of you.” She smiled at him.

Nick didn’t return her smile. Actually, he looked really worried about something. “Sabrina, did you have something to do with what happened to Father Blackwood this morning?” he asked urgently. “Because I need to know.”

She pushed him away. “Hardly. Why do you ask?”

“Because he’s asking to see you. Now.” He looked on the verge of panic.

How adorable. He was actually worried for her. Sabrina gave him one of her dazzling smiles and entwined his hand with hers. “Don’t worry,” she said sweetly. “It’ll be fine.” She kissed him on the cheek and departed down the hallway, headed for the High Priest’s office.

As she reached the Dark Lord’s statue, she stopped and looked up into its stone eyes. _This man’s shame I offer to you_ , she thought clearly.

A rush of hot air lifted the hair on the back of her neck. Satisfied, she went on her way.

“Come in,” said the voice from inside the office. Sabrina pushed her way inside and closed the door.

Father Blackwood was sitting at his desk, grading papers. For a long moment, it seemed that he was determined to ignore her. She waited.

And then his eyes lifted, and she found herself flying back into the wall, pinned there by an unseen force.

“Did you think,” he said clearly, calmly, “that I wouldn’t find out?”

Sabrina struggled against the force holding her there. An invisible hand was choking her, and she fought for air.

“Did you think,” he said, coming around the desk slowly, “that I wouldn’t guess? That I wouldn’t know? That I would have _any doubt_ about who would take such action against a High Priest of Satan?” He stopped in front of her, and with a wave of his hand, she collapsed to the ground. “ _Did you think you would get away with this?_ ” he roared.

Sabrina coughed, rising to her hands and knees. Her hair was in her face, her breathing raspy.

And then her coughing turned to laughter. At first, a hoarse giggle, hardly audible as she regained her breath. Slowly, it grew to full-throated mirth as she stood, holding her sides as though she could barely contain herself, and looked him triumphantly in the face.

He snarled and gestured again, but she was faster. Now it was he who found himself flying backwards, hitting the edge of his desk with a painful thud. With what looked like barely any effort at all, she kept him pinned there, crumpled at the juncture of his desk and the floor, looking up at her.

“As you can see, it doesn’t really matter,” said Sabrina clearly, stepping closer to stand over him. “I’m more powerful than you are. Turns out, I always was.”

He stared at her in disbelief. No one had bested him like this… not in years. Not since…

Not since Edward.

“You see, the Dark Lord may have chosen you,” said Sabrina, as though explaining to a child why he couldn’t have ice cream for breakfast, “but he also chose me. He gave me his power. And I’ve learned to use it.” She snapped her fingers, and the cat-o’-nine tails that had so recently scored her back flew from its hook, wrapping around the High Priest’s neck. It jerked him upwards, leaving his feet dangling inches above the ground.

He scrabbled at the whip, but its hold was secure. His face grew red.

“So if I were you,” said Sabrina, her eyes dancing as she watched him squirm, “I would remember that, going forward.”

His eyes widened. Spots were appearing on his vision.

She twitched one finger, and the whip let go.

He collapsed to the ground, wheezing.

Sabrina turned to go. “Have a good day, Father Blackwood,” she said sweetly.

And as the door to his study closed, Faustus felt another set of doors closing on him, as well.

~~~

Nick was waiting for her outside. “What happened?” he asked, face stricken.

Sabrina gave him a hug and slipped her arm around his waist. “We established some boundaries,” she said lightly.

“Some… jeez, Spellman,” he said, ruffling her hair as they made their way downstairs. “You live on the edge.”

“Just where you like me,” she said, snuggling into him. He laughed.

“So you want to get together tonight and… work on homework?” She looked up at him hopefully.

“That would be great,” he said. “Your place or mine?” His eyes teased her warmly. He knew what she really wanted.

“Oh, I don’t know…” said Sabrina idly, as they passed the statue of the Dark Lord. “Let’s see where the day takes us.”

Hand in hand, they passed out of the main foyer, through the front doors, and out into the world.


End file.
